The Scholar & The Athlete
by sizzy-enthusiast
Summary: "Never would I have thought that a tutoring session would change my life the way that it did. I'm just the smart girl after all, what exactly can bring me joy besides studying and straight A's. But weirdly enough, I found some happiness in a life that was far too uneventful. And I can bet that even the best of love experts wouldn't have been able to predict this love story."
1. The Scholar

Gradus Honoris. National Honor Society. The smart kids. All the labels apply to me, I guess.

I had always been one of the brighter bulbs in the bunch, but life was exhausting and most importantly, boring when you live life the way I do.

While I saw all the girls go out for our highly ranked volleyball team I was making flashcards. While the drama kids got ready for their next production I was reading textbooks. Football games, homework. Homecoming, SAT prep. "The biggest party of the year," re-reading those textbooks. I had to miss my own junior prom because I was working on college stuff.

My parents are really anal about school. And the only reason I think this is, is because I showed more promise than my brother, Alec, did.

Alec goes to community college about twenty minutes from home and whereas my parents hate it, I love having him so close. They don't seem to understand the bond that we have. Over the years, most in which they spent fighting through, we became a two sided unit who needed each other desperately. He's probably the closest thing I have to a friend besides Clary.

The only person who talks to me at school is Clary Fray, a girl who is far too kind to everyone she meets. Her bright red hair and glowing green eyes to match made her stand out throughout the blandness of brunettes and dark haired girls at Shadowhunter High School. She's on the volleyball team and I guess she could be considered popular if our school did the whole hierarchy thing.

Being on the Math Honor Society as a junior required me to tutor people in math twice a month and Clary had always been my girl. It started out as just twice a month, then it turned to three, then four, then five and before I knew it I was going to her house to help her with all her school work three times a week.

"Isabelle?" she had asked one time in her room as I helped her study for a big Chemistry exam.

"Hmm?" I had hummed, looking up from the equation I had been writing.

"We're friends right?"

I had been so shocked I nearly choked on the pretzels we had been snacking on. "I guess so?" I honestly hadn't thought about it before that moment. Clary was just the girl that I tutored.

"The only reason I'm asking is because I've had some pretty bad friends before. And, I don't know, I've always been worried about me turning into that. After last year I promised myself that I wouldn't really be a part of their crowd anymore," she paused. "I need a good friend. One that I know won't use me or steal my boyfriend or gossip or anything. I need to get away from that. So really I should have asked if we were good friends." A creased etched into her forehead.

It didn't take me long to make up my mind. "I've never had a _real_ friend before, not including my brother. Of course I'll be your friend."

Clary never pried. We've been friends for almost a year and she never asked me to do anything that would distract me from school work. Every once in awhile we'd get pizza or ice cream but in the whole year we've known each other we've only gone out for more than an hour once, not including tutoring secessions. It was for a movie over the summer. A movie, in which, I had to beg my parents to let me go to for a week. It was an animated comedy.

"Doesn't it bother you that your parents are so strict?" Clary had asked as we waited for my mother to pick us up. Clary had already had her license by this time, but mother wouldn't allow me to drive with anyone other than her or dad.

Of course it bothers me, I wanted to say. I hate the fact that you can leave your house just because you feel like it while I have to beg for days to do just that.

Instead I shook my head.

But being smart has its perks. Or I should I say being on Grad has its perks.

During the last month of junior year they announced those lucky enough to get on Grad, the National Honor Society. It's a big deal for all the teachers and what not as they watch their kids from previous years get onto this elite society.

I never had any other plan than make Grad.

Ever since I entered middle school there's been a plan. 4.0 GPA, Math Honor Society, 2300 SAT score, National Honor Society, 35 ACT score, Science Honor Society, Valedictorian, Princeton University.

The GPA is in the bag. Even if I managed to fail a class this year I would still have the grades to pull out a 95, which is considered a 4.0.

Math Honor Society, check.

2300 SAT score. 2240 and counting, sadly. Retaking those in a week.

National Honor Society, check.

35 ACT score, check.

Science Honor Society, check.

Valedictorian. The only problem that I can find on the entire list. I honestly could care less about the spot at this point. Helen Blackthorn had me beat by .02 percent which may seem insignificant, but really made all the difference. I remember the exact History test sophomore year that created those differentiating points. I got an 84.

But what made me angry was that Helen has friends, and she plays tennis, and she even has a girlfriend. She's able to do so much and still maintain her 99.8. I think she deserves the title more than I do. Who wants their valedictorian to be the girl who stayed home more than she spent out of it, right? Helen was just a better fit for the position.

And lastly Princeton.

On average twenty six thousand students apply to this school every year. Princeton has been my one and only since kindergarten. Only about two thousand get in, so I believe my checklist was pretty important. If I'm able to check off everything but valedictorian, I think I'm still pretty solid.

Applications go out on the first of December.

But like I said before, Grad has its perks.

Its students are privileged to have a gold pass, an automatic pass that enables us to leave the class whenever. Most would abuse the power of it if it weren't for the fact that you had to keep your GPA above a 92.1. Honestly the pass was really handy when I needed to go to the bathroom, or was running late to class. But if I had to choose between my Grad pass and the Grad Store, I'd pick the store in a heartbeat.

The Grad Store was the most popular place to buy snacks and supplies at school. Only Grad people got to work there. It was a hot spot to hang out for everyone to hang out though. Usually Grad kids give their friends discounts, but I don't seem to have any other friends other than Clary and she never comes to the store. I typically go during my study hall third period when nobody else goes.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you don't need to be tutored? Clary, I literally have no one else."<p>

"Isabelle really, I am sorry. I have a date tonight and shockingly," she had closed her locker, "I'm understanding everything right now."

"Well what am I supposed to do then? Friday is the deadline and you know I hand it in a few days in advance." When on Grad you must tutor six times a month. And lucky me because I get to tutor eight times every month with Grad and Math Honor Society combined.

"Put your name in the box down in the office and they'll find you someone to tutor by this afternoon. I'm sorry."

So this morning I did just that. Before I got to worry about it, it was eighth period and I waited impatiently for the call down to the office to pick up my papers. When the classroom phone rang during World History I jumped up, waving around my Grad pass, and ran out of the room before being dismissed. I had known it was for me anyway.

Mrs. Roberts was seated at her small metal desk by the main entrance of the office, obviously waiting for me.

"Hey there Isabelle, I have your tutor work for you."

I snatched the papers from her hands rather rudely, quickly flipping through the stack of math work. The last page was what I needed and when I found it I was appalled.

The name on top of the tutor fill out sheet was Simon Lewis.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:** Okay lets set some ground rules. It is rated M for a reason, though these reasons will not happen for quite awhile. I have this entire fic planned out in my head and if my love for it never dies it will get done. (I am beyond determined to go to college saying I've written a novel length story.) The first chapter was made to set things up, and chapter 2 will be up shortly. I based a lot of this National Honor Society stuff off of the one at my school, so if you have any questions just give me a holler._

**_Edit: _**_I've decided to change Isabelle's major. And in doing so I had to switch colleges. Moral of the story Brown is out and Princeton is in. __  
><em>


	2. The Athlete

I straightened the papers on my desk as I impatiently waited for Simon Lewis, none other than the captain of the football team.

"Isabelle, its okay," Ms. Garroway said as she worked at the chalkboard with a clean eraser. "I know you usually tutor your friend, but tutoring other people can be just as effective. Maybe you can even learn a thing or two."_ I doubt it, _my self-conscious answered_._

I wouldn't have minded if it had been anyone else. But somehow out of the entire population of our school, my name had to be selected for Simon Lewis. It just didn't make sense.

This is probably the part where I should ramble on and on about him and all that he's accomplished, but honestly I've never spoken to him one. I think we've been in the same room twice ever and both times occurred in middle school. I knew he was still around obviously; he would be one of the popular ones if there was such a title, so naturally I always heard about him. Back in the pre-pubescent years he seemed like a jerk but now I was interested to see how he's developed. Maybe three years of high school had straightened him out.

I was wrong.

Simon Lewis came straggling in six minutes late, followed by two of his friends, one whom I recognized to be Jace Herondale, Clary's boyfriend_. You better scamper home and get yourself ready for your date,_ I thought. _Or Clary will be furious._

All three were wearing their maroon and white football uniforms, laughing at something probably not that funny anyway, as they walked into my favorite math teacher's room. Ms. Garroway sensed my lack of speech as a bad thing and took over.

"My, my, my so many students here for math today; you boys need help in geometry?" The boys laughed and shook their heads no.

Jace spoke through hysterics, "No we're here for a study thing."

"Really?" Ms. Garroway didn't look impressed. "Isabelle, dear, could you please tell me whose name is on the tutor sheet you received this afternoon?" she bellowed so the delinquents could hear her. Their eyes focused on her and then scanned the room to find me, sitting in the middle of the classroom; hair parted perfectly, school bag on the desk behind me, pencils and papers aligned to perfection.

"Um," I looked down as if I hadn't the slightest clue who I was actually tutoring. "Simon Lewis?" I said in a questioning tone.

"Ah, Simon Lewis, what a lovely name. Which one are you?" Simon Lewis stood in the center of the group and lifted his hand. "And who exactly are your two friends?"

Simon Lewis's followers inclined their heads to the ground. I heard mumbles of, "Jace Herondale" and "Jordan Kyle."

"Well then Mr. Herondale, Mr. Kyle there are so many lovely clubs and activities to stay post session for. Why don't you find something to do that way my Grad student can tutor your friend for the next half an hour. Does that seem fair?"

Both boys nodded in agreement and scurried out the way they came. Now it was just Ms. Garroway, me, and Simon Lewis in the deserted geometry classroom.

The teacher heaved a sigh and went back to working on the dusty chalk board. Simon Lewis stood in the same spot, unmoving. I averted my eyes to my papers. _Clary I hate you, Clary I hate you, Clary I hate you._

"Mr. Lewis," Ms. Garroway pulled the glasses off the bridge of her nose and turned to him. "Please join Isabelle; she's already feeling self conscious about tutoring other people. Don't make this harder for her than it needs to be."

I knew for certain that my face showed the amount of dread as I was feeling. I watched as he reluctantly followed her orders and found the seat next to mine.

"Hello," he mumbled to me.

"Hi," I stammered awkwardly, avoiding eye contact at all costs. _There is literally no reason to be nervous. You're being ridiculous._

"I'm Simon," he said nonchalantly.

"As your papers say," I gestured to the stack in front of me.

"And you are?"

I pried my eyes from the gray tiling to look up at him. The boy from middle school had grown up completely. The lanky body that I had known him to have was gone and replaced with lean muscles. His posture that had once been slumped over and self conscious was straight as a board now, confidence radiating out of him. My throat felt thick.

I turned to my bag and started rummaging through it. Once I found the small amount of water I still had left from the school day I chugged it hoping for a way to sooth the all of a sudden scratchy throat.

"Isabelle," I said as I spun back to him. "Isabelle Lightwood." I inhaled a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I'm acting weird. I've never tutored anyone other than my friend before, so this is kinda new for me."

"It's okay. I've never been told that I'm too stupid for a class and that if I don't get a tutor I won't get the credit for the semester. So I guess it's a first for the both of us."

I smiled. "First of all, I don't think you're stupid."

"You don't know that. I could very much be the stupidest idiot on this planet."

I didn't think that though. I truly believed that any person can understand anything they are learning if they are taught the correct way. That's what inspired me to want to become a teacher.

"Well I've been told that I'm a fantastic teacher. Here," I gave him a copy of work that he probably already had in his bag or his locker. "Answer number one and I'll do the same and then we can compare answers."

He took a pen out of his pocket and started the problem. "Who's said you were a great teacher?"

I finished the problem getting 'n' to equal six. "You might actually know her. Clary Fray?"

"You mean the hottie that's bangin' my boy Jace?" The comment made me roll my eyes. _What a guy thing to say._

"If by hottie you mean my best friend, then sure." I looked over to his paper. It was blank. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

He shook his head guiltily. "That's why I need help."

"You just need a few words of wisdom before you get on your feet, that's all. Let me show you." I pull out a clean sheet of loose leaf and show him the correct formulas and purposes of both arithmetic and geometric sequences. "See, you're switching up the 'n' value and the 'tn' value. If you get those straight then you're golden because the rest just gets plugged into the equations." He took a second before nodding. "Just remember that the 'n' equals the number of total values while 'tn' is the specific number of a value, like 't4' or 't32'."

"But I still don't understand how to differentiate them when they're in word problems. Sometimes I get it right, but most of the time I don't."

With Clary it was easy. I told her the steps and the rules and she understood it ninety five percent of the time. It looked like Simon Lewis was going to need a little work.

"Okay, imagery always helps. I know you're overwhelmed with numbers right now, but distinguishing the first term and the distance is always the easiest, right?" He nodded. "So let's think of actual things for the values. This word problem is talking about a video game, but let's think about it like it's one of your football games. So I'm sorry if I butcher football because I have not the slight clue on how it works or what exactly you do. But there are a lot of guys on your team right?"

"Yeah I think there are sixty seven of us." He looked far more engaged in the conversation then he had been a few minutes ago.

"I want you to think that your whole team, all sixty seven of you, is the 'n,' the total value. But now there's only two minutes left in the last quarter." My words slowed as I went, not sure if I was saying the right things. His head bobbed in encouragement. "And coach has this plan. He needs you to do the play that will win the game for us. You specifically are number…?"

"Eight," he twisted around to show me his number on the back of his jersey.

I couldn't help but smile. "Eight's my lucky number."

"Maybe you can be my lucky charm," he murmured.

My heart felt like it skipped a beat, though I knew it just sped up due to my adrenal glands secreting hormones throughout my body. It was a completely natural response for attraction, but I couldn't understand why such a response was happening for Simon Lewis. I wasn't attracted to him. He just said something nice.

I rubbed my clammy palms on my jeans.

"Ugh, math, we're –we're working on math," I said into the air hoping that the tense atmosphere from his previous comment would disintegrate.

"Yeah," he agreed spinning around so that our shoulders were parallel not perpendicular.

"So you're number eight, the eighth player on the team. Think of that as a specific value. Coach needs the eighth player to win the game for the school, 't8'."

"Ohhh okay, so for this video game problem 'tn' equals fifteen," he looked throughout the numbers on his page, "and we need to find what 'n' is? How many games he played?"

One of my favorite moments when tutoring was the, "ohhh," of understanding.

"Yeah, actually," I smiled at the improvement. "Just plug in the rest of the numbers and tell me what you get." He eagerly went to work.

I was about to move on to the next problem that way it would be done by the time he needed help with it, but my eyes kept wandering back to him. The pencil furiously scribbling on the paper; his eyes squinting just the slightest, a memory of a smaller version of him with glasses resurfaced; his brown hair in his eyes; his tensed jaw, the small stubble along it made me feel lightheaded.

"Isabelle?" he said sounding as if he had tried my name a few times without getting a response.

As my brain submerged from a region I didn't want it to be, I looked over at his paper. He had answered the next four problems.

"I'm –I'm sorry; could you excuse me for one second?"

He nodded and whipped his phone out of his pocket. I ran straight over to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

I wetted my hands and ran them along my neck and forehead. _There is no reason for me to be acting like this. I am not attracted to Simon Lewis. It isn't possible, and isn't going to happen._

"Isabelle?" a voice called. It was Ms. Garroway.

"Yeah, I'm coming. I'm sorry." I grabbed a paper towel and walked out into the hallway, wiping my hands as I went.

"Dear, are you okay?" she put an arm around me.

I hated being rude but I shrugged it off. "I'm completely fine. Thank you for the concern."

I went back into the classroom without knowing how she was going to answer. Simon Lewis was exactly where I left him, but instead of using his phone he was working on the worksheet again.

"I'm really sorry about that," I said as I sat down next to the boy in the football jersey. "I'll do these next couple of problems and we can check if they're right, okay?"

"No big deal, I think I got."

"Really? Do you have any other questions?"

"Not any that I can think of at the moment," he looked up between glancing at the paper and me. I shouldn't have cared if he looked at me or not, but my face turned warm even against my wishes.

Neither of said anything until the post session bell rang.

"Ugh, thank you," he said as he stood up. "I know things got a little… awkward there at the end, but shockingly you did teach me something."

I tilted my head toward him. "Shockingly? Do you doubt my ability to tutor because I'll have you know that Clary's GPA was a 78.6 after freshman and sophomore year. And after she started weekly study secessions last year she got it up to an 84.2."

"You keep saying she. She wouldn't have gotten there without you."

"No, I think that Clary has always been capable to get the grades she's gotten over the past year. I was just there in the beginning to get her back on track."

"You kept saying 'she' and that 'you heard' that you were a good tutor. I think that you don't give yourself enough credit."

"It's not me. _You're_ finally making sense of it. I made sense of it two years ago."

"I should have guessed you'd be a stubborn one."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" My hands shook with rage.

"Defensive too I see."

"You offend me on many levels, Simon Lewis."

"You don't have to use my last name as a part of my first you know."

"I do it to everyone until I feel comfortable around them," I told him the truth.

"So does that imply that there is going to be other tutoring sessions?"

My stomach churned. I hadn't meant for it to come out like that. I knew that staying away from Simon Lewis would be better in the long run. Whatever happened today was never going to happen again. "I don't know," I answered back in confusion.

"You know," he picked up his bookbag and papers off the desk, "on that fill-out sheet I can request a tutor. I'm pretty sure that if I requested you they wouldn't say no. So even if _you _do, they won't. You can't get rid of me that easily. Bye Isabelle."

As soon as he was gone I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. My hand, which was shaking, steadied itself on my chest. Ms. Garroway chuckled from her desk.

"What's so funny?" I asked, on the verge of tears. I couldn't explain the sudden urge to cry, but seeing the teacher laughing at me made me feel awful about myself and about everything that had just happened.

"I've seen you in class and I've seen you with Clary, but I've never seen you like _that_."

"What's _that_? How was _that_ any different?" I asked worriedly, picking at my fingernails.

"You were nervous," she chuckled again as she pushed away from her paperwork. The old woman sat down in the desk to the left of me. Not Simon Lewis's chair. "I mean this in the nicest way possible sweetie; I think Simon makes you nervous."

I shook my head in my defense. "I got nervous at the fact that I was tutoring somebody different. Everybody that I've tutored so far has understood what I've taught them and strived. I was worried that he was going to be that one person that didn't. I want to be a teacher, but what if I couldn't get through to him. I was nervous for that and that only."

Again Ms. Garroway giggled. "You tell yourself that sweetheart. Now you should get goin'," she tapped her watch. "I don't want you missing the bus."

I collected my things and ran out the door, waving goodbye over my shoulder. I caught the bus just in time. As the vehicle passed the football field my eyes drifted toward the players. In the center of the large crowd was the boy with the brown hair that I had taught arithmetic sequences to.

He whipped his head around toward the sound of the leaving buses and smiled. I knew he couldn't really see me as I waved, but a part of me hoped that his smile had been for me. I groaned as I leaned back into the plastic seat, shoving my headphones into my ears. I clicked a random song and watched the trees of orange and red as they passed.

I hated to admit it, but Simon Lewis left me breathless.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ Seems like miss Isabelle is trying to deny her feelings, what a shame that Simon isn't giving up yet ;) Tell me what you guys think, your reviews are all so sweet


	3. The Game Changer

"Izzy, wake up," a muffled voice called from my door.

I groaned and rolled over, blocking out the light that was now turned on. "No, go away."

"If I have to go to school, then so do you," the voice said. For the fact that Max didn't have school for another an hour, I knew it had to be Alec.

"Alec, don't make me," I complained.

Piercing light blinded me as the blanket was stripped away. "I told you to get up. I don't want to be this rude in the morning, but I hate school just as much as you do. Now get up or I'm going to get the bucket." Images of the water bucket that Alec kept in his room lit up the inside of my eyelids. My legs flung over the edge of the bed and guided me to my closet.

"Hey we'll even stop at Starbucks on the way, if that's good with you," Alec called again.

I traveled to the back of my walk in closet to where I kept pants and sweaters. I found a pair of light washed jeans and shrugged them on. "Mom's gonna let you drive me? That's uncharacteristically nice of her." I grabbed a random sweater and scarf and threw both on as well.

"Don't be mean."

"I'm not mean," I snatched a pair of brown boots on my way out. "Just saying what we already know."

"Doesn't make it any better." He popped his head back into the room, a toothbrush in his mouth. "And anyhow, she doesn't need to know."

"Then how will I say I got to school?"

He jingled dad's car keys from the doorway. I thanked the heavens that dad wasn't as strict as mom.

* * *

><p>Alec dropped me off in the parking lot so I could catch up with Clary easier.<p>

Her eyes lit up as I handed her the large latte. "I ditched our study date and you bring me coffee the next day anyway? Either this is some reverse psychology shit or you just really love me."

"Come on," I lurched toward the building. "Yes, I'm angry, but I'm not that much of a bitch to not bring you coffee. I know that you need caffeine to function."

She took a sip and hummed into in. "So how did it go? I know you weren't really looking forward to working with somebody new. Did it all work out?"

I didn't let myself think about yesterday. "Fine. It went fine. They understood what I taught them, I did my job. Although I have to admit, tutoring you is a thousand times better."

"Who was it?" she asked as we pushed into the school. My fingers tingled as the warm air thawed them. _It's October twenty eighth and the weather is proving to be too much for me already. By the time it's actually snowing I think I'll be an icicle._

"No one important," I answered as we approached the office. "Hey, I need to hand in the tutor sheet can you wait for me."

She nodded into the cardboard cup.

I stepped into the room and smiled at Mrs. Roberts. She held up one finger as she finished talking to the student in front of her. I recognized the '08' on the back of the jersey.

My heart rate picked up, pounding faster than a racehorse. I shut my eyes tightly. _Calm down. Take a deep breath and count to three. Simon Lewis will not make your heart beat irregularly. You will not give him the power, okay? One… two…_

"Isabelle?" Simon Lewis' voice asked from a distance much closer than I would have liked.

_Why me. Why _me_?_

I opened my eyes to see none other than the football captain himself. I waved a quick hi and took the necessary step to Mrs. Roberts' desk.

"I have my tutor sheet to hand in." I held the paper out to her that I had retrieved from my bag.

"I'd hang onto that actually. You were requested to tutor someone." She looked over my shoulder.

"Told ya that you couldn't get rid of me that easily," Simon Lewis snickered.

The groan that I intended to be internal exploded out of my throat, leaving the air rigid. I stomped back into the hallway to Clary.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe he requested me," I screamed. "What an ass! Didn't he see that I was uncomfortable? Why didn't he understand that I didn't want to be there? I'm the salutatorian; of course they wouldn't not use me if they were asked. The thing is, nobody ever asks." I slumped into the closest chair. "Why is this happening to me?"<p>

Mrs. Garroway rolled her eyes in my direction. "In all my years I have never seen such a dramatic personality swap in one of my students."

"I'm completely fine," I mumbled. "And I am not being over dramatic."

"I didn't say you were. But it's nice to know you see it too," she laughed.

I huffed out a sigh. I had dreaded post session all day. Clary had tried to cheer me up, even though I wouldn't tell her what was wrong.

"It's just another tutor session," she had said. "Just imagine that it's me."

_If only it was that simple_, I had thought.

What I'm still thinking…

My body told me that, from a scientific perspective, I'm attracted to Simon Lewis. But the way that I was reacting to him didn't make sense to me. I didn't like him in anyway whatsoever.

I had to keep reminding myself that I'm at the peak of my high school career and I couldn't afford any kind of distraction. Not now. But thinking about him still sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

When he walked into the classroom alone, I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. _I do not like Simon Lewis. __I am not attracted to him. This is the last tutoring session we will have, and then I will be done with this boy forever, _I vowed.

And to my surprise as he looked at me, I felt no misplaced heartbeat, no sweat, no nervousness. No, nothing. It was as if yesterday didn't happen.

_It must have been the initial shock of seeing him for the first time in years,_ I told myself.

Either way, I felt overwhelming relief.

"Hello there." He had a smug smile on his face as he fell into the chair next to mine.

"Hi," I said stubbornly. Even if this so called "crush crisis" seemed to be over I couldn't get past my bitterness toward him.

"I told you they wouldn't say no."

"I think it's stupid that I can't deny the request. Just because you want _me_ doesn't mean that I have the time or the motivation for _you_." My face warmed as I realized the double meaning behind my words.

He turned away to pull out his homework. In that brief second before his body was completely spun around, I caught a glimpse of what I thought was a slight tinge of pink across the tops of his cheekbones. But I was probably wrong. It was probably just my mind playing tricks on me.

He scoffed. "Now, I feel bad."

"Whatever," I answered just as bitterly as my hello.

Simon Lewis started the worksheet after the silence became too much for him. He had the first three done by the time I answered the second.

"Do you even need my help?" I hissed as Ms. Garroway pushed away from her desk to answer the phone.

"I understand what we did yesterday, but I have something different today and it features the thing from yesterday. So I understand it up to there."

"Plug everything in," I answered unhelpfully. "And I checked in with your teacher and found out that the things that she's been giving me aren't even what you're doing in class. You did this stuff a few weeks ago."

"The work we did yesterday was a homework that I didn't do, so it's not completely useless."

"Well, is there anything that you're doing now that you don't understand?"

"Of course," he said as if it was the most obvious answer. "I was told that if I didn't get my grade up I'd flunk out of the class."

"Then why don't we work on one of those topics?" I tried gentling my voice. "Homework grades are important, sure, but you need to do well on tests. Unfortunately this isn't science or English where doing labs and projects can keep you afloat. Tests and quizzes make all the difference in math."

He hesitantly nodded. "Okay."

I peered over to Ms. Garroway who spoke into the phone in a rush. Her eyebrows pulled together in worry as her finger tangled with the twisted phone cord.

"You know?" Simon Lewis concluded.

I looked at him, disoriented. "Sorry. Again?" I sheepishly grinned.

"I said," he chuckled into the air, "that I'm usually good at everything individually. It just sucks when she quizzes four or five things at a time. I never remember how to do everything except like the two latest sections."

"Sounds like you need to study," I giggled.

"For math?" He looked at me like I had four heads. "That's like saying you have to study for the SATs."

I crossed my arms over my chest, looking at him the exact same way he was looking at me. "You don't study for the SATs?"

"No? Who does? My parents might have been able to get me into that ridiculous night class last year, but I still only ended up getting a 1320 in June. Right then and there I decided that I was a lost cause. Standardized testing is just not my thing."

I thought back to my first SAT and blushed at the memory. It was completely mortifying. But before I could think about what I was doing I shifted in my seat so that I was facing him. "I'll let you in on a little secret about the first time I took my SAT."

He mimicked my posture and said, "Do tell."

I felt the discomforting recollection shift to the front of my memory bank. "It was sophomore year and I was –"

"You took your SATs sophomore year?" he commented, cutting me off mid sentence.

"No interrupting. But yes. You have to realize my parents push for academic perfection. They signed me up for the June SAT my sophomore year in case I did poorly, which I did, that way I'd have all summer to study."

"You study over the summer? You actually do _school related things _over the summer?"

I sighed at his cluelessness. At least Clary understood.

"I was in a room filled with nervous juniors all hoping for the highest score they were capable of getting and I sat there confident that I would smoke them all. I was bright, but I didn't study and I crashed and burned as a result."

"Crashed and burned how?"

I looked down at my lap. "1240."

My mother and I were the only ones who knew the awful score that I had gotten. I had never told anyone about it, not even Clary. Why I told Simon Lewis was beyond me.

But when I looked up he didn't make me feel self conscious; in fact, his smile was infectious.

"You're telling me that I did better on my first SAT compared to you?" he laughed.

Though I was still smiling, the embarrassment continued to redden my cheeks. "It was two years ago," I tried to argue.

"But I still did better. I have something over Isabelle Lightwood. What a remarkable power to have."

"Guys." Ms. Garroway stepped back into the classroom. "I have to get going. Something's happened at home. Isabelle I'll leave you my key, please do not feel pressured to leave yet, you still have ten minutes before post session is over. Just lock up and return the key to me tomorrow. Thanks. And I'm so, _so _sorry." She exited the room continuing to spout out apologies.

I couldn't help but smile at her kookiness. She used to be the same way in Geometry though.

It was hard freshman year adjusting to the new building, and I somehow always ended up in room 136 for lunch. The crazy teacher welcomed me during her free period and over time I became friends with the most hated Geometry teacher in the building.

She was an incredible teacher and by seeing her twice a day my GPA strived. Freshman year was when everyone started calling me a teacher's pet. I think it was because of Ms. Garroway.

"You space out a lot, don't you?" Simon Lewis broke me out of my reverie.

I shrugged guiltily. "I don't mean it, honestly. I was taking a trip down memory lane."

"So back to the SATs," he set his pen down and leaned on his hand. "How'd you do the next time you took them? How many times _have _you taken them?"

"After the summer of studying nonstop, I pumped that test score up to a 2060." I couldn't figure out why I was still talking.

"That's insane."

"And I've taken them nine times, by the way. Next Saturday will be lucky number ten."

Simon Lewis' eyes nearly fell out of his head. "Don'cha realize that that's like," he counted on his fingers, "_so many _hours taking that stupid test? You're never going to get that time back."

I shrugged. "I haven't gotten my score yet. I'm literally sixty points away from the goal."

"And the goal is what, exactly?"

"2300," I said proudly. "I'm so close it actually hurts."

He seemed to be at a loss of words. "You're like _really smart, _aren't you?"

"Most likely the salutatorian of our class, so yeah I guess."

He put his face in his hands. "I got the fact that you were smart. You're on Grad, and the office ladies all know you, but Jesus I didn't think you were that freaking smart."

"Thank you?" I wasn't sure how to interpret his words.

"What do you want to do with your life? Like what do you want to be?" He seemed to talk with his hands a lot when he didn't know how to grasp something.

"I want to be a teacher," I confessed. "Preferably a professor, actually. I'm gonna get my PhD in physics."

"Physics, really?"

I nodded.

"You don't strike me as a physics girl."

"Well I am. And I'm pretty damn good at it too, if I do say so myself."

"And where exactly do you want to get this PhD in physics?"

"Princeton University is the dream," I sighed. "To be a Tiger and follow in the footsteps of my mother. It's always been the plan. They have the best physics program in the U.S.," I added.

All of a sudden I got an overwhelming feeling of self centeredness. I didn't want to talk to Simon Lewis about all the ways that I was going to succeed in life. I didn't want to talk about _me_ anymore, so I tried to reverse the conversation. "But what about you? What's your dream school?"

This time, he looked down toward the tiles. "I kinda don't have a dream college."

"Okay, you don't have a reach school, that's fine. Not everyone has one. Sometimes the school you want to go to is within their grasp. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," he said uncomfortably.

"Do you not want to go to college?" The concept of not going to college was a complete and utter mystery to me. I knew that people didn't go, but I had never thought of anything else for myself.

"Sure I want to go. But I'm not smart enough to get into a fancy university. I can't even get a good SAT score. I'll probably stay here and go to community college like all the other morons in this place."

"I don't understand why people nowadays are so opposed to community college," I stated while looking at my nails. The dark polish was beginning to chip. "What's not to like about it? It's cheaper, you can stay at home, no large debts, no loans, and the stress is miniscule compared to a big university. I mean if it were possible, I'd stay here." He didn't answer. "Is your GPA what you're really worried about?" Again, no response out of him. "It can't be that bad. What is it?"

He shrugged.

"You're being very helpful," I teased. "I want you to remember that I want to be a teacher and you not responding to me is frustrating. I'm not going to judge you. I'm not an ass."

He was timid but he eventually answered. "Whenever people start talking about college I blank out. I don't want to talk about it. It stresses me out to even think about applying and going. I can't even handle my school work here, how in the world am I supposed to be good at college?" When he spoke the words came out low and throaty. It made my muscles feel like jell-o.

"Believe it or not, but not every school is looking for students with 4.0 GPAs. Let's say you have an eighty. That would roughly translate to a 2.5, which is very doable."

"I don't have an eighty GPA," he mumbled.

"Okay." I thought of something else. "I know of schools that accept people with 1.5 GPAs. Simon Lewis, do not think for one second that you are a lost cause."

He gazed up at me through his thin glasses frames, his dark and thick eyelashes muddled my brain to the point that I almost forgot what I was arguing. "I have an eighty six."

I held the back of my hand to my mouth so a laugh wouldn't wiggle its way out of it. "You think that _that_ GPA isn't substantial enough to get you into college?"

He shrugged again.

"Do you know what the average GPA for males in this country is? You probably don't, so I'll just tell you. It's 2.9. For females it's 3.1, which converts to an eighty six GPA."

"Are you telling me that I'm as smart as girls?"

"I'm telling you that you are not stupid. I hate that word. You are more than capable to go to any college you want to go to. I believe it wholeheartedly."

This time when he looked in my direction he didn't let his gaze fall. His brown eyes stayed locked with mine for far longer than what could be considered normal. It brought a fresh blush to my face.

"What are you looking for?" I said breathlessly.

"Hmm?" he hummed finally breaking the eye contact. It felt like steel chains were lifted off of me.

I readjusted the papers on my desk into a perfect pile. "You weren't just looking into my eyes. You were looking for an answer."

"It's nothing." He turned back to the worksheet on the desk.

There was a part of me that believed that it was more than nothing. A part of me wanted to get him away from this school, to get away from the stiff environment and the everlasting smell of chalk dust. The more rational part of me knew that that was a terrible idea.

Instead I brushed it to the side and took his nothing as nothing.

"So what do you recommend then?" Simon Lewis didn't look in my direction as he asked.

"For what?"

"The SATs. If you're so confident that I can get into a good school, even with my GPA, what can I do to get a higher score?"

"I would say to just buckle down and study for the test. That's all you gotta do."

He sighed. "I always thought everyone said it's impossible to study for the SATs."

"Well I can show you how," I offered. Only after I said it did I realized what I did.

"You would teach me how to get a good score?"

_Wanting something is completely different than actually making it happen_, I reminded myself._ Do not make this happen._

"Sure. I mean, I helped out Clary and she got a 1910. She was ecstatic about it." If it were possible to roll your eyes at yourself I would have done it right then and there.

"And you wouldn't mind doing the same for me?" He finally looked in my direction.

I knew I should have said no, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted to be a teacher after all and not helping someone, especially when I was surely qualified to help him get a higher score, seemed like an absolute misfortune.

"Absolutely not. We can set up study times. I usually go over Clary's or we come to my house, it doesn't matter to me. Or if you're uncomfortable with either one of those, we can stay here after hours and go to the library. During study halls is another good opportunity," I rambled on.

Simon Lewis looked shocked that I said yes. "During school is kinda difficult," he answered. "But _after_ school would work. Football season is technically over, so next week I'll be free every day."

"Your house? My house? Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "I guess my place will work."

Although the silence that followed between us was light, a part of me felt heavy. I came in telling myself that this was the last time I would tutor this boy, and now I was planning daily study sessions with him. What was wrong with me?

But as we sat there saying nothing I listened harder to the surroundings and realized it was eerily quiet. No students laughing indoors or out. No sound of the buses running as the heat warmed their interiors. It was _too_ quiet.

"You still have ten minutes before post session is over," Ms. Garroway had said.

Ten minutes.

I dreaded to look down at my watch to find out the time. But against all the trembling that began in my stomach I glanced down to the rose gold watch on my wrist and found that my suspicions had been correct.

3:26.

"Shit." I jumped out of my seat and started shoving everything into my backpack.

"What happened?" He looked startled at my sudden commotion.

"The bus left twenty minutes ago. There is no way I'm getting home before my mother."

Simon Lewis got up and started shuffling all his things together as well. "What time does your mom get home?"

"Four. And she doesn't deal with tardiness."

"Can't you just say that you stayed late tutoring someone?"

"If that someone was Clary there wouldn't be a problem. But because you're very much a male, I will be murdered."

"What if you can get home before she does?" He looked down at his watch.

I threw my hands in the air. "It's too long of a walk to get there in the next thirty minutes." Scooping up my things I head out the door, locking it behind me. I whipped out my phone and texted Alec. _Where are you? I need you._

"I'm already late to practice, let me drive you home," Simon Lewis said from behind me. "This is all on me anyway."

"If my mom found out that you drove me home she'd throw a fit. She doesn't even like my older brother driving me places."

"Then she doesn't need to know." An image of Alec in his pajamas at my bedroom door this morning came and went. He had said the same thing to me this morning.

I spun around toward him. My backpack fell from my shoulder into the crook of my elbow. "Why?"

"Why what?" He couldn't make sense of why I stopped walking.

"Why are you offering me a ride home? Why not just let me get home late and let me suffer?"

Simon Lewis shook his head as he said, "Because you don't deserve a punishment for getting home late; especially if it's because you're tutoring someone. Come on," he nodded his head toward the exit. "If we run to the parking lot we can get there in two minutes. How long does it take you to get to your house?"

"About ten."

I was getting in a car with Simon Lewis. He was driving me home. This wasn't happening. This _wasn't_ happening.

"We can make it." He took off in a run while I took a moment and stared at him in amazement.

Even though my insides burned with rage at the thought of liking Simon Lewis, I knew I needed his help just this once. _Let him drive you home. You have nothing to lose. It's not like you can get rid of him now._

I laughed at the thought. I _can't_ get rid of him. Not yet.

I ran after Simon Lewis, moving my feet faster than I had ever moved them before.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I haven't updated in like 3 weeks, oops. My Thanksgiving break was supposed to be reading, writing, and more reading and writing. And it kinda ended up being eating, Gossip Girl, and brutally damaging my sleep schedule. I have the next four chapters planned out completely so I'm hoping that I can get those out super fast. Sorry for the delay for this chapter that isn't even that great. xoxo_

_** I made a blog for this fanfiction that will have updates about where I got inspiration for things. I would greatly appreciate it if you'd check it out._  
><em>thescholarandtheathlete on tumblr<em>


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